Pulse of Life
by The Green Paintball
Summary: John is away for the weekend and Sherlock has a craving for a part of his past he thought was left behind One-shot


An: I don't own Sherlock Holmes (TV show or otherwise…. As much as I wish I did)

* * *

John had left for a weekend away with Sarah, more likely they were just at a rustic motel on a busy street corner of Cardiff. For some reason John had taken offence to him remarking on the lowly quality of the place he assumed they were going (it was his own damn fault for leaving the confirmation page printed out on the living room) especially since Sarah was trying to not look disappointed in the doorway.

It was probably best this weekend anyway, the tremors were starting again and the house reflected the horrible mood he had been in since they started. Cabinet doors were flung open and their contents rifled through, books in all corners of the room and strewn about the floor with pages flung open at random, his violin bow was shattered at the foot of the of obnoxious smiling face on the wall.

It had taken everything Sherlock had to not go under the overpass and meet with Gregory. It had been ages since he had a right fix and he knew if he had even half a smoke that there would be no stopping. It would lead down a dark and twisted path but it was the only thing that could cause his mind to still, it was the only thing that would calm the- No!

Pounding his palms against his temples Sherlock paced back and forth between his windows restlessly. There had to be something to replace the craving. There had to be _something_ he hadn't thought of yet. Stalking around the shared rooms barely pausing to even avoid the furniture, Sherlock pulled at his curls and moaned through clenched teeth. Mrs. Hudson would have never left for her sisters in Lancashire and been gone the entire week until tomorrow if she had known that Sherlock would be left alone. It was almost an unspoken agreement that someone would be in or around the flat most of the time to make sure Sherlock would keep away from trouble, not that it had any problem finding him.

It had been ages since he had eaten and although he had no appetite Sherlock tore open the door and looked at the triple-A batteries and a few bottles of beer on the shelves of the ice-box. Whirling away with an agonized shout Sherlock stopped in his tracks when he saw his iPod peeking out from the top of the open pantry.

Sherlock let his head fall back as another craving hit his system and literally shook every sinew in his body as a tear fell from his clenched eyes. This was worse than detox and feeling this way was so common, so _boring_ that it almost hurt his heart more than anything he had ever felt. He was better than this, he would do something to clear his mind and reset.

* * *

Grabbing a few things from storage and his newly charged iPod Sherlock looked forlornly at the mantle. It had been too long, too long indeed he thought as he shut the curtains to outside and stripped. If he was going to do this he was going to do this properly. It wasn't too late in the night to warrant the neighbors in the flat over to call the police by the noise he was going to make.

After adjusting the switches to where he liked it, Sherlock let his shoulders curl around each other and hung his hands and head.

It felt like his tremors the way it started before his muscles started flowing to the beat and as the tune picked up in pace every hair stood up as a different type of shiver took over him. It truly had been too long. The bass ripping through the speakers pulsed the air around him and Sherlock could feel the voices blaze through the air as well as ripping through him. Finally something better then heroin was coursing through his veins made him feel alive… made him feel like every single cell in his body was glowing brightly and creating a light in his heart.

If anyone had been watching Sherlock they would have seen no movement besides a trail of tears flow down his cheeks, but as the song sharply ended before jerking into another beat there was silence, even his breathing had been barely audible.

After about an hour Sherlock had finally moved, his hands clenching and unclenching slowly as he brought his head up and looked at himself in the mirror above the mantle. It was finally quiet in his mind, as fleeting as the sensation would be, Sherlock embraced it completely as he let out a weary and exhausted gasp of joy.

The next day Mrs. Hudson found Sherlock playing his violin and pacing back and forth around the livingroom, stepping gracefully over the neatly stacked books and over the table. Although he was still in his dressing gown and it was nearly noon, it had been a long time since Mrs. Hudson had seen him with such a wonderful smile on his face. After receiving a warm hug and another bright smile Mrs. Hudson walked down the stairs to the woven pitches of a man and his music.


End file.
